The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning (22 page)

The afternoon lengthened and the daylight began to fail. Some murmured fearfully but the Starwife held up a paw and reassured them, ‘Do not fear, it is not him, not yet. Last night must have taken its toll and the power will be spent for a while. Jupiter will not be able to use my Starglass today, but all too soon will it be ready again.’

Thomas hated sitting about doing nothing, but what could they do? He wished he had brought his pipe along. The fire needed more wood but there was hardly any left in the house. He wondered if he ought to go out and find some more when his thoughts were interrupted by a chirpy voice.

‘This some sort of indoor picnic or what?’

The mice jumped with surprise and spun round. Arthur could not believe his eyes, ‘Piccadilly!’ he shouted happily.

The city mouse grinned from ear to ear as his friend rushed forward and shook his paw. ‘Careful Art,’ he warned with a laugh, ‘it’s so cold it might drop off.’ Everyone gathered round to welcome the cheeky young mouse back to the Skirtings.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ cried Arthur, overjoyed. ‘What made you leave the city? Was life getting too dull?’

A shadow passed over Piccadilly’s face and he looked away. ‘Wotcha Mr Triton,’ he said, changing the subject.

Thomas eyed him strangely before returning the greeting, ‘Welcome back lad. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so – you look awful.’

Piccadilly grunted and was about to say something to Master Oldnose when Audrey pushed through the crowd and said sheepishly, ‘Hello Piccadilly, I’m glad you came back – I missed you.’

He blinked and was at a loss for words. He had often wondered what her first words would be if they ever met again, but he never counted on ‘I missed you.’ The city mouse shook his head in disbelief; he always thought Audrey had disliked him and now here she was smiling coyly. ‘Hello,’ was all he managed to come up with. A light bloomed in her rich brown eyes and he stepped back in surprise. Somewhere, deep inside him was born an urge to kiss her. It alarmed him and he coughed and turned hastily away.

‘I never thought we’d clap eyes on you again after you went off like that,’ said Arthur. ‘Why are you here?’

Piccadilly collected his wits and spoke seriously, ‘That’s a long story . . .’ But before he could say any more he put his paw to his mouth. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I’ve brought someone with me.’

‘Who is it?’ asked Audrey. ‘Where is he?’

‘He . . . I left him,’ Piccadilly stammered warily, unsure how to put it, ‘I left him in the cellar after we came through the Grille.’

‘Don’t leave him down there lad,’ ordered Thomas. ‘Bring him in.’

‘But . . . you don’t understand,’ Piccadilly tried to explain. ‘Oh well!’ He cupped his mouth in his paws and yelled through the cellar door, ‘Barker! You can come in now.’

‘This one of your city friends?’ Arthur inquired as they waited for him to appear. A strange slapping slither came up the steps and the mice stared at one another curiously.

‘Barker coming mousey boy,’ cried a croaky voice. Audrey backed away, Arthur scratched his ear and Thomas scowled. They recognized the sound of a rat when they heard one. In waddled Barker. ‘A rat!’ screamed Mrs Chitter leaping to her feet, ‘we’ll be eaten alive!’

Most of the mice had never seen a rat before but all knew how vicious they could be. They shrieked and scattered everywhere. Some tried to leap up the stairs but tripped and fell over each other, others headed for the Skirtings where they all tried to squeeze in at once and got jammed in the entrance. Cries and wails rang round the Hall as the mice charged about demented with terror. Algy became tangled in the blankets and squealed as he smashed into a pile of unwashed soup bowls.

Barker laughed and jumped up and down. He thought it was a game and started to chase some of the mice which only made matters worse. Piccadilly groaned. He was afraid something like this would happen. ‘Barker,’ he shouted, ‘stop it you crazy old nit!’ The rat took no notice as he had pinned Mrs Chitter to the wall and was busily engaged in tickling her under the chin. She let out a howl and slid to the floor in a faint whilst her curling papers popped out of her hair as it stood on end. Piccadilly ran over and tried to grab him but Barker was enjoying this too much and dodged out of reach. With a bound he had leap-frogged over one of the Raddle sisters and blown a raspberry at the other. He chased Biddy Cockle and pulled a blanket over Master Oldnose’s head. ‘Barker!’ bawled Piccadilly not knowing whether to laugh or be cross.

Barker pranced round the Hall until he skidded to an abrupt standstill. He had nearly crashed into the Starwife and now she was staring at him fearlessly, but her brows wrinkled and a curious look crossed her face. The rat caught his breath in surprise and hissed. For a moment the two seemed to strive mentally with one another as though they were locked in a secret duel. There was a strained, struggling silence between them and their eyes smouldered with enmity.

Piccadilly ran up and took hold of the rat’s tail, ‘Gotcha!’ he cried. ‘Don’t worry folks,’ the city mouse called out to all the distressed mice, ‘he’s with me. He’s harmless I promise– just a bit nutty that’s all.’ He dragged Barker away from the Starwife and led him back to his friends.

Throughout all the commotion Thomas, Gwen, Audrey and Arthur had remained calm. They had realized that if Piccadilly had brought him then Barker could not be dangerous. Even so, the midshipmouse did not like the look of the barmy old rat. Arthur, however, had split his sides laughing, and when Mrs Chitter fainted he felt as if he was going to bust. Now he wiped the tears from his eyes and settled down as the chuckles gave way to smirks.

‘Sorry about that,’ Piccadilly apologized. ‘This is Barker – I had to bring him with me. Like I said it’s a long story, but first of all – Jupiter is back.’

* * *

Piccadilly drank the soup and tried not to pull a face – it was as weak as dish water. ‘Thanks,’ he said battling to sound as though he had enjoyed it, ‘that was – very, er . . .’

Gwen took the bowl from him and nodded with understanding, ‘Yes I know,’ she smiled. ‘It isn’t very nice but that’s all we have I’m afraid.’

The city mouse was sitting in front of the fire soaking up the warmth. It seemed like ages since he had last had time to relax and wiggle his toes. Barker sat next to him sniffing his bowl suspiciously. He lapped up some of the soup and swilled it round his mouth. It had taken quite a while for the panic to die down. Some mice were still hiding in the Skirtings under their beds and no amount of persuasion would draw them out. A few brave ones hovered near the fire and studied the rat keenly. He didn’t look as fierce as they had imagined.

Mrs Chitter had to be taken away to her little room where she whimpered in her sleep and had horrible tickling nightmares. Strangely enough the Raddle sisters were among those who crept closest to the fire to see the strange newcomer; they had never had such an exciting time in all their lives and secretly hoped for more.

Piccadilly was listening attentively to Thomas as the midshipmouse brought him up to date with events. He was sorry that Oswald was not here; he had been looking forward to seeing ‘Whitey’ again. Occasionally his eyes would rove sideways to where Audrey sat and she smiled back at him. When the tale had ended, Piccadilly sat up stiffly and bit his nails.

He then related his own story. As this was news to everyone, more mice crept round. They were all astonished and dismayed to learn that Morgan was still alive and gasped at the point where Holeborn was attacked. Throughout all this Barker shot furtive glances at the stairs where the Starwife had been but she was not there now and he craned his neck to see where she had gone.

Thomas rubbed his whiskers, puzzled. ‘It don’t make sense,’ he muttered. ‘Why would Jupiter call an army of bloodthirsty rats back here, only to kill them as soon as they arrive?’

‘Maybe he’s potty,’ suggested Piccadilly. ‘I can’t see any other reason for it. Unless he just likes to kill things – that wouldn’t surprise me.’

But Thomas was not convinced. ‘No, there has to be a sound reason. He never does anything just for the sake of it, but we’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Is there really nothing we can do?’ asked Arthur gloomily. ‘Why don’t we all put our heads together and see if we can come up with something?’

‘I suppose it’s worth a try,’ agreed Thomas. He stood up and grabbed everyone’s attention. ‘We’re going to have a meeting,’ he declared, ‘anyone who wants to join in is most welcome.’

When most of the mice had sat down, some still looking dubiously at Barker, they began. ‘Right,’ said the midshipmouse, ‘let’s go over what we know about Jupiter.’

‘He’s dead,’ Mr Cockle put in bluntly.

‘So we can’t kill him,’ added Algy, stating the obvious.

Audrey tried to think of something she could contribute. ‘Oh,’ she announced suddenly, ‘he doesn’t like the heat.’

‘How do you work that out?’ snorted Arthur.

His sister rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘Because if he did he wouldn’t be freezing us to death would he? He’d blast us with fire or bake us – that would be much quicker than waiting for us all to freeze.’ Thomas puckered his brow with concentration. ‘You might be right but Jupiter could just be bringing in the cold to prevent the Green Mouse’s return.’

‘So where does that leave us?’ asked Piccadilly, dismissing the ridiculous Green Mouse.’

‘Jupiter
might
be afraid of fire, though I don’t see why if he’s dead – I mean it couldn’t hurt him could it?’

Audrey sighed. ‘If only I still had my mousebrass, perhaps that would have helped – it worked before.’

For the first time since his manic escapade Barker spoke. ‘Barker like pretty mouse danglers,’ he chattered brightly, ‘him always wanted one but all he ever had was lump, lump, lump.’

Master Oldnose bristled and could not help stating acidly. ‘Rats do not wear the brass, they are for mouse necks only – the very idea!’

Barker waggled his tongue at the pompous creature. ‘Not true,’ he retorted, ‘nyer nyer!’

‘Keep quiet,’ warned Piccadilly, ‘this is serious, we haven’t got time for your pranks again.’

Barker folded his arms sulkily and mumbled, ‘Not fair, no one listens to Barker. Rats do ’ave danglers he saw one.’

‘What about the Starglass,’ began Arthur, ‘do you think we could get close enough to break it before Jupiter tries to use it again?’

‘Never get near it,’ Piccadilly replied shaking his head, ‘you’d be speared before you got within . . .’

‘Shush,’ said Thomas. He had been watching Barker intently and wanted to know what he had meant. ‘Who did you see with a mousebrass?’ he asked the rat.

Barker shrugged. ‘Not remember,’ he replied with a sullen expression.

Thomas slapped the floor angrily. ‘Tell me!’ he commanded. .

The rat fell on his face. ‘Don’t hit Barker, no more lumps for him – please, he’ll tell. Old Stumpy it was, it was him that had shiny mouse metal, wore it often he did, said it were his good luck charm.’

Audrey leaned forward. ‘This mousebrass,’ she said breathlessly, ‘what did it look like?’

Barker raised his frightened eyes to her and narrowed them as he replied, ‘Looked like a cat it did – whiskers an’ all.’ A murmur ran through the gathering. ‘Audrey’s brass,’ they uttered with surprise.

‘Morgan must’ve found it in the water before he swam to the city,’ breathed Piccadilly, ‘what luck!’

‘Praise be to the Green,’ exalted Master Oldnose, ‘even in the winter he shows the way.’

Thomas grinned with excitement, ‘So Morgan holds the answer. If we can take the mousebrass from him and throw it at Jupiter we might get rid of the old devil once and for all.’

In the shadows the Starwife listened to their confident plans and shook her head sadly. What fools they were! Then she saw them laugh and tutted at her own arrogance. Perhaps they were right. Maybe it would work – just because they were simple mice did not mean they were incapable of great deeds – Jupiter had after all been destroyed by them once before. Her gaze moved from face to face. How eager and keen they were for this plan to succeed. She did not have the heart to say they might be mistaken, but she had grave misgivings. Something told her that it would take more than a mousebrass to vanquish Jupiter this time. He had outgrown the earthly confines and his might was incalculable.

Then the squirrel choked back a cry. There, in the midst of the crowd, Barker was staring out at her with a malevolent gleam in his eyes. The Starwife backed away, greatly troubled. There was something about him that was familiar and yet – oh what was it? He had deftly parried all her attempts to read his concealed thoughts and that fact alone alarmed her. Barker was not who he pretended to be – but who was he? She pressed her paws into her forehead and racked her brain but it was useless. The squirrel chided herself – perhaps it was not important after-all; she really must not get distracted from the main problem. The Starwife melted back into the deep shadows and the rat watched her with an evil smile on his lips.

Audrey threaded the remaining silver bell onto her tail and carefully smoothed the creases in her collar. While the plans were being discussed in the Hall she had slipped quietly away and entered her bedroom in the Skirtings. She untied the crumpled ribbon in her hair and put in its place a clean one of palest pink. She admired herself in the small mirror which she had fetched from her mother’s room and practised her most winning smile. Piccadilly’s unexpected return was the sole reason for this strange behaviour; her heart was beating rapidly and her mind crowded in with wild fancies and impossibilities. When everything looked right and Audrey was satisfied, she gave one last critical glance in the mirror and turned to leave.

‘Mother!’ she exclaimed in embarrassed surprise, ‘How long have you been there?’

‘Long enough,’ Gwen replied shaking her head at her preening daughter, ‘oh Audrey,’ she sighed disappointedly. Audrey felt her ears burn as she blushed shamefully. She felt as guilty as a thief caught in the act. ‘I was only . . .’ she lamely began, but her words failed and she did not know what to say.

Gwen nodded, ‘I understand,’ she said with a knowing look in her eye, ‘you wanted to look your best for Piccadilly, didn’t you?’

The girl hung her head. ‘Yes,’ she admitted slowly.

Her mother came forward and embraced her ‘My darling child,’ she breathed softly, ‘you must forget the feelings you have for him. Things have changed and you must act responsibly. Like it or not, you are married – you are Mrs Scuttle now, Twit’s wife.’